


The Regular Miracles

by rabidchild67



Series: Steal My Body Home [4]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 11:42:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1303651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Funny how a life-changing diagnosis makes you appreciate the little things. </p><p>A series of timestamps in the Steal My Body Home ‘verse, better known as “aneurysm!Neal.” It helps to have read the original story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Regular Miracles

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a lyric from the song "A Bad Girl in Harlem" by New Politics. Written for kanarek13

_RING-RING_

“God, _finally_ it’s the darn roofer,” Peter said, looking more than a little relieved. “Do you mind if I take this, babe?”

Neal looked up from his phone where he was playing _Flappy Bird_ and waved him on. “Yeah, sure, whadever you need do do,” he said around the packing in his nose. “The nurse zaid I’d be oud of here az zoon az the docdor gave his OK.”

Peter frowned. “Wow, ‘nasal’ isn’t a good sound for you,” he observed. 

“Well whose fauld is thad?” Neal asked with a scowl and then winced – his face hurt and his nose was all swollen.

“Not me, surely?” Peter said with a grin, then tapped his phone and answered it, wandering out of the room. 

Neal sat in a private, curtained-off cubicle in the ER at Lennox Hill Hospital, awaiting his discharge. A routine take-down in their latest case – Neal’s last with the White Collar team before his sentence was up, as a matter of fact – had ended less than ideally. As Peter was reading their suspect his rights, the guy wriggled out of Jones’ grip and rounded on Peter, fists flying. Peter had ducked the guy’s punches, but Neal had not, and so wound up with a fist in the middle of his face that had laid him out flat on his back. He’d only been unconscious for a minute or two, but Peter had insisted on taking him to the hospital to be checked out.

Neal looked up a few minutes later to see the young doctor who’d initially seen him standing there with an older, more scowly person standing beside him. “Mister Caffrey?” the young doctor – Doctor Choudhury, Neal thought his name was – said in his lilting Indian accent. “I wanted to introduce you to Doctor St. James, who I wanted to consult on your case.”

“Oh doe,” Neal said, reaching a hand up to his face. “Am I going do need a blastic surgeon?”

“No, I’m sorry Mr. Caffrey, I ought to have been clearer. Doctor St. James is a neurosurgeon.”

“Neurosurgeon?” Neal asked. “What do I need one of those for?”

\----

“Hon, I know.”

Neal startled when he heard Peter’s voice carry to him from the hallway outside. He had somehow forgotten Peter was here with him. Hell, he’d forgotten that he, himself, was here. 

The doctor’s announcement that there was something wrong with him – something very, very wrong with him – had left him feeling beyond numb. He felt like Snow White in her glass casket – he could see everything around him, but he felt none of it. Completely removed. From everything

“ _Hon. I. Know,_ ” Peter repeated, and suddenly he was in the room. 

Neal could hear Elizabeth’s voice filtering in from the other end of the call, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying.

“I said I was sorry, but I forgot,” Peter continued, his voice becoming slightly whiny. “Well I mean, I had a case, Honey.”

Neal imagined Elizabeth saying, _“There’s always a case, Peter.”_

“Lookit, I am sorry I forgot to call the roofer and that there is now a four week wait… Yes, I know… I know, Hon… But… But El… Hon… Honey…”

Neal rested his head back against the bed – he’d used its controls to raise the head of it as far as it would go because lying flat seemed wrong somehow – and let Peter’s voice wash over him. His lovers were having a disagreement. It was the most ordinary conversation he had ever heard – boring, even – but it was music to his ears. Their exasperation with each other was always diverting, always somewhat entertaining, and in this moment, it provided a kind of comfort. For all its mundaneness, he clung to it almost desperately.

Peter twisted his phone upside down against his ear – so that Elizabeth couldn’t hear the sigh he just let loose as she made whatever point she was making. “God, I forget to do one thing,” he said to Neal in a low voice, and sat down on the edge of the bed with his back to Neal. “Uh-huh… yes, El…” There was a long pause while she spoke, during which Peter reached out and laid his hand on Neal's calf, pulling the leg closer to himself.

“I know, Hon, I know. Well, I’ll just have to take a personal day. Or maybe we can bribe Neal into doing it.” He turned around and winked at Neal. “OK. OK, Hon. Bye.” He turned around to face Neal. “I tell you, she can be like a dog with a bone sometimes,” he said, but his frustration seemed to be half-meant, and the fond smile on his face told the truth of that. “Guess I have only myself to blame for forgetting to book the roofer in the first place.”

“She’s letting you off easy if you ask me,” Neal said because he had to say something.

Peter mock-scowled. “Who said I was asking you?”

Neal was sure there was a clever or sexy retort to be made here, but he found he didn't have the energy. He sighed and stared at the labels on the cabinets that hung on the wall behind Peter without seeing them – medical supplies and other disposables, he assumed.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Peter asked, picking up on his mood.

It took Neal several seconds to look back at him. “Nothing.”

Peter – ever the FBI agent – let it lie, though he didn't look like he believed Neal. “So come on, where’s the nurse and when can you get out of here? I want to pick up some flowers from El on the way home.”

“Oh. About that – the doctor said he wanted to admit me.”

Peter’s brows furrowed. “Something _is_ wrong - what is it?”

Neal took a deep breath – did he have the words to answer that?

“Tell me more about the roof?”

xXxXxXxXx

_DING!_

“I really wish you’d stayed home,” Peter said as he and Neal got off the elevator on the twenty-first floor. “It’s too soon. I don’t like it.”

Neal sped up his pace a little to avoid Peter’s hand at the small of his back. Since his diagnosis, Peter had gotten even more handsy than usual, and Neal found it smothering. “It’s my last day, Peter, it’s not like we’ll be chasing serial murderers or anything,” he murmured. He opened the door and stood aside, to let Peter precede him. 

Peter stood just inside the door, looking around and pitching his voice very low. “I just don’t like you taking any risks, babe.”

“I take a risk whenever I bend over to tie my shoes, Peter,” Neal said wearily.

“We need to get you more loafers, then.”

Despite his miserable mood, Neal was forced to smile. “All I’m gonna do is pack my desk and eat some cake – where’s the harm?”

Peter’s face turned red. “That was supposed to be a surprise.”

“You shoulda told Elizabeth that, then.” Peter groaned. “Come on, she thought it was nice.” 

“Do you think it was nice?”

“Is the cake red velvet?”

“Of course.”

“Then I think it’s very nice.”

Peter just stared at him for a beat, the concern in his eyes something Neal was beginning to hate, and so he turned his eyes away. Peter turned to go up to his office when Neal took his wrist.

“Listen – I still don’t want to tell anyone about… what is wrong with me, is that OK?”

“Of course – it’s your news to tell.” Peter turned his wrist so that his hand grabbed Neal’s hand.

“Thank you.”

\----

“Surprise!”

Neal paused just inside the door from the elevator – he’d just had his exit interview with HR and some guy from the Department of Corrections – and grinned at his soon-to-be ex-coworkers. “You guys…”

They all walked towards him, and he submitted to a round of back-slaps and hand-shaking.

“Look at you – I can’t believe you actually made it to the end,” said a familiar voice behind him.

“Diana,” he said warmly, turning. He leaned over to try to kiss her on the cheek, but the bundle of squirming baby she held in her arms got in the way. “I’ve still got three hours left to raise hell.”

She smiled up at him. “I also can’t believe you’re leaving this week when I get back from maternity leave _next week,_ ” she said with a slight pout. 

“Well, you can have dibs on my rubber band ball,” he said and her eyes lit up.

“Seriously, I’m gonna miss you around here, Caffrey,” she said, but before she could say more, Theo let out a needful whine that apparently meant something to her. “Sounds like someone needs changing – I’ll see you in a bit.”

The party went reasonably well, and at the end of it even Hughes showed up to wish him well. He presented Neal with a bottle of 20-year old whiskey and clasped his hand warmly. “Best of luck, Caffrey,” he said. “I have to tell you that I’m proud to see this day finally arrive. It’s been an honor and only-occasional pain in the ass knowing you.”

Neal laughed. “Well, thank you, sir. Thank you.”

“So tell me – what’s next? How does it feel to have your whole life finally ahead of you, Neal?”

Neal suddenly felt all the blood drain from his face. It was a question that should not have been a stumper, and one he should have expected to hear today, but he was still caught flat-footed. “I. Um.” He laughed, nervously.

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you haven’t thought it through about a million times over the last four years?” Hughes asked good-naturedly.

Neal had, he had thought it through more than a million times. Just not lately. Not now. Not when all those future plans were laid to waste by what he saw as his utter lack of a future. 

“I guess it’s just… hard to pick,” he finally choked out before his throat closed up on him and he had to bail.

Neal made a beeline for Peter’s office, where it was quiet and cool and private. He stood just inside the door where he took in deep breaths and tried to will his anxiety down to a more manageable level. the blinds had been drawn in here, including the vertical ones along the glass walls that Peter had had installed after he’d taken command of the division, so no one could see his little panic attack. A small sound off to his right startled him; he looked over to see Diana sitting behind Peter’s desk with Theo in her arms, breast feeding him.

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you,” he said, and turned to leave.

“It’s OK,” she said with a smile. “Come on in – I like having the company, actually. This gets kinda boring sometimes.”

He walked over to the desk and leaned up against it, near her.

“Something wrong, Neal? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

 _Maybe my own,_ he thought. He reached out a hand. “May I?” 

She nodded and Neal rested his hand on the back of Theo’s head. The little guy was sucking away enthusiastically, his eyes closed but occasionally rolling back in his head like he was having the most enjoyable meal of his life. For all Neal knew, he was. His head was so small, yet so real, and warm, and soft, and Neal let himself be distracted by his little eyebrows and lashes and tiny, upturned nose. He was so perfect, a miracle, and fascinating, and for a moment he could remind himself that there was joy and promise in the world if you just knew where to look for it.

After a moment, Diana laid her hand over his, warm and dry, and he looked up into her eyes. “Are you OK, Neal?” He took his hand away from the baby, but Diana still held onto it, and squeezed. 

“The silent, subtle, ever-present perils of life,” he breathed.

“What?”

“Melville.”

“Now I _know_ something’s wrong. Come on, tell me.”

Her eyes were so caring, and her face so earnest, that he almost broke down and told her everything – literally _everything_ , all his fears included. Instead he looked back down at Theo again and smiled. “Just a little scared is all, I guess.”

“You want to know what fear is? Become a parent,” she joked. “Is it because of the job thing?” Diana seemed to know he had no offers going – apparently, Peter thought it was OK to share _that_ little detail.

“Sure,” he said as agreeably as he could.

“Well, I’ll hook you up with my old college roomie – she’s a head hunter over in Brooklyn Heights, and…”

Neal went to sit in the chair opposite the desk and listened to her in career advice mode, letting the friendly chatter wash over him like a balm.

xXxXxXxXx

“Something sure smells good – it is what I think it is?” Neal reached out to peek inside the oven, but his mother Regina batted his hand away.

“You know full well what it is, and keep your hands off. It’s got another twenty minutes to bake.”

“Oh, goody!” Neal said, barely suppressing the urge to clap his hands like an overexcited child. 

Neal felt good today – lighter and less stressed than he’d let himself feel in months. He’d finally made the decision to have the experimental surgery that his doctor thought might work for his particular case as soon as they got back to New York. Not having that hanging over his head like the sword of Damocles was more liberating than any decision he’d ever made in his life, and Neal was a little amazed by how it had changed his outlook. 

“What is it exactly?” Peter asked, eyeing the oven almost suspiciously.

Peter’s sober expression cut Neal’s enthusiasm, though not entirely. Since their fight the night before over Neal’s choice to have the surgery, Peter had been quiet and withdrawn. They’d returned to Regina’s this morning for breakfast as planned, and the drive over had been torturous, filled with observations about the weather and the performance of New York sports teams. 

“Monkey bread,” Neal said.

Peter’s eyes widened as recognition dawned. “Your mom’s famous Monkey Bread?” 

“The same. God – I smell that smell and it’s like I’m seven again!” Neal said, flashing his eyes and grinning wide.

It had the desired effect. Peter smiled, crow’s feet crinkling adorably. “I just need some coffee.”

Twenty minutes later, Regina turned the Monkey Bread out of its pan onto a serving plate and drizzled it with a glaze she whipped up of powdered sugar, vanilla, and milk. Neal waited at the tiny dining room table already, glass of milk at his elbow, and the childhood flashback would be all too real if his mom weren’t followed to the table by his lover, carrying a couple of coffee mugs with him.

After breakfast was done and all the coffee gone, Peter helped Regina clean up while Neal went to the living room to lie down on the couch. It wasn’t that he felt ill, he was just too stuffed to move, having eaten half the pan of Monkey Bread.

“…longer do you think you’ll stay?” Regina was saying. 

Neal stirred, surprised he’d dozed off so quickly, but kept his eyes closed and listened with half his attention.

“I don’t know about Neal, but I’ve got a meeting in DC the end of next week, so I have to be back by then,” Peter replied. “Plus, there’s like… well, you know.”

“I don’t know.”

“Um… Neal’s surgery.”

“Oh. Oh, yes, that’s right for the, uh…”

“Aneurysm.”

“That’s right. I _know things,_ Peter, it’s just that with the Alzheimer’s, I sometimes can’t remember the words. Do you understand?”

“I do, Regina,” Peter said.

There was a pause, then Regina asked, “So, how did it go last night? When he told you?”

Neal opened his eyes, listening intently now.

“About the surgery? Oh, about as well as can be expected. Which means I think I freaked out a little too much.”

“He thought you might.”

“He said I’d only want him to do what I want him to do.” The hurt in Peter’s voice seemed very raw to Neal, and he almost wanted to go to him and apologize all over again.

“You only want to protect him and keep him safe.”

“Yes.”

“Because he’s special, and he’s sensitive, and he’s a dreamer. And it’s a harsh world out there that chews people like Neal up and spits them out, and it’s up to people like us to protect people like him, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Except sometimes the real world has to be dealt with, Peter, and we can’t always do it for him. We shouldn’t. Take it from me – I tried to do that once, and I lost him.”

“It’s just so hard,” Peter finally said, clearly on the verge of tears.

“Everything worth doing in life is hard, dear. Now come here.”

Neal let out the breath he’d been holding while a long silence stretched in the kitchen, punctuated by muffled sniffles. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter said at last, his voice nasal and congested.

“Don’t be.”

There was the sound of dishes being washed and dried.

“So tell me the secret of the famous Monkey Bread,” Peter said after a while, sounding more like himself.

“What about it? I cut up Pillsbury cinnamon rolls and throw them in a pan.”

“You have got to be kidding me. My wife’s been trying to get the recipe right for Neal for _months_.”

“Sometimes I add raisins.” 

Neal smirked, then rolled over and fell asleep on the couch.

xXxXxXxXx

_Strawberries_.

Since he had his surgery six months ago, it seemed that Neal’s every sense had become hypersensitive, a fact that Neal’s doctor said was unlikely, but that Neal would swear by. Case in point: the strawberries they had after dinner tonight that Neal still tasted on Elizabeth’s lips. 

Neal angled his face up, swiping his tongue inside her mouth. “Mmmm,” he said.

“Mmm-hmmm,” she answered, and then laughed into his mouth.

Another example was the frisson of sensation that traveled up his spine as Peter thrust his tongue in and out of Neal’s ass. But that was probably a product of his being incredibly turned on more than anything else.

“Oh! Oh!” Neal panted as Peter did that swirling thing, and he pawed clumsily at Peter’s hair. “You keep that up and I’ll come right now.”

Peter looked up at him from between Neal’s legs and grinned, his chin spit-slick and sloppy. “Maybe I want to make you come right now,” he said.

Two orgasms later, Neal lay back-to-front against Peter, sweaty and sated, head lolling on Peter’s shoulder. Peter sat propped against the head of the bed, and Elizabeth lay dozing on her back on the other side of Peter, her head pillowed on his stomach. Neal idly ran his fingers through her hair.

“Went to the doctor today,” Neal said, then felt a stab of dismay as both his lovers stiffened at the news. “Please relax – it was a routine checkup.” 

“Oh,” Peter said. “What did he say?”

“He said he didn't want to see me again. He said he didn't _need_ to see me again, not ever.”

“What does that mean?” Elizabeth asked, pushing herself up on her elbows and turning over to look up at him.

“It means there’s no sign of any problems or complications on the last CAT scan. It means I’m cured.”

Peter’s arm came around his collarbone, pulling him in tighter, even as Elizabeth sat up in the bed. “Honey, that’s wonderful!” she said. 

“Why didn't you tell us this earlier?” Peter asked, planting a kiss on Neal’s ear and ruffling his hair.

“I don’t know, I guess I wanted it to be a surprise or something.”

“Well, it most definitely is,” Elizabeth said, and kissed him.

When they parted, Neal said, “You know, I don’t think I’d have gotten through all of this if it hadn’t been for you both.”

“We know,” Peter kidded.

Neal laughed. “But the whole time I felt like everything was so impossible, like I was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. And you both just – well, you helped me deal with all the uncertainty and fear, and I will always be grateful.”

“And screw all those undropped shoes!” Elizabeth added.

“I dunno about that, Hon, it’s a pretty specific kink…” Peter said, and she smacked him in the arm.

“What I’m saying,” Neal interrupted before their actions devolved into a slap-fight or other shenanigans, “is that I feel like my life can finally start up again, all fresh and new.”

“To fresh starts,” Elizabeth said, raising an invisible champagne glass.

“Hear-hear!” Neal said, fake-clinking his fake glas against hers.

“Cheers!” Peter said and they all laughed some more.

“Speaking of fresh starts,” Peter said a moment later, and sat up, dislodging Neal. He got out of the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, returning a few seconds later with his dopp kit in his hands. Elizabeth, excited, reached her hand out to Peter and he took it, then they both turned to Neal.

“Neal, we wanted to do this somewhere special,” Peter began.

“But given this good news, I don’t think there’s any place more special,” Elizabeth added. 

Peter reached into the leather bag, pulled out a small, black box, and handed it to Neal. Neal’s vision suddenly tunneled down to the small item he held cradled in the palm of his hand. He opened it up – inside was a simple, platinum band.

“Peter – El – “

“Will you marry us?” Peter interrupted him. 

When Neal looked up, both of them were on their knees on the bed – ridiculously naked – and smiling at him. “Really?” he asked.

They both nodded. 

“Yes.”

\----

Thank you for your time. 

You can also find me on Tumblr @rabidchild67, I hope you'll consider following me there.


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